Jane Doe
by Shostakovich
Summary: The Joker's finally behind bars. Gotham rejoices as Arkham teeters on the edge of a breakdown-- and a breakout. But first, the Joker has a few scores to settle: his past has finally caught up with him. Can he keep his head in this battle of wit and wills?
1. Work Tomorrow

Like most, I was blown away by Heath Ledger's performance as the Joker in The Dark Knight. And as usual when I see something astonishing, my mind started working. Here's my first story pertaining to the Batman universe.

This is a story where the Joker's past grabs him by his purple lapel. As per usual, I've taken hints from the DC universe as well as from my own imagination. I've taken characters in Gotham and put my own spin on things, and Kudos to anyone who spots something inspired by DC! And of course, there will be the obvious players— the Joker, Batman, Scarecrow. Dr. Arkham of insane-family-fame. The works.

Anything DC-related belongs to its creator(s).

Obviously, The Dark Knight spoilers abound here.

Here's to my first attempt at DC. Cheers! Please read and review.

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* * *

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Dr. Jeremiah Arkham usually didn't drink.

He was, after all, usually dealing with minds much more creative than his. Any sort of buzz was a huge disadvantage.

Besides, he liked to think of himself as respectable. An upright citizen in a downtrodden town.

But every so often, he needed something to calm himself down. Like a few months ago, after his co-worker had become his patient. Or a week ago, when he met the Joker face-to-face in uncomfortably small quarters.

And then there was now.

Dr. Arkham didn't know why he was so nervous. But when Jim Gordon had introduced him to the new social worker pegged on the Joker's case, his stomach had plummeted.

The social worker's name was Kitty Johnson. She was a pretty girl with dark blond hair and impeccable fashion. And she was vain, or at the very least smug. Her smiles became warmer once he expressed his uncertainty in her.

He had a feeling she was only smiling at herself, and how she thought she could beat the Joker.

She'd told him, cordially, that she had excellent credentials, and also very few expectations for men in general. The Joker was on her do-not-touch list, which also included her boyfriend's brother.

The commissioner had laughed, but Dr. Arkham didn't appreciate her humor then and he didn't appreciate it now, while he was halfway drunk.

He didn't know if the Joker would get angry at Kitty Johnson's brashness, or laugh.

And then of course, in Arkham Asylum, no one was ever sure which was worse.

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* * *

.

The receptionist at Arkham was called Dear.

Most people didn't know if her name tag was a joke and ignored it. Others hid smiles. But the regulars knew it was her last name.

One regular, Ingrid Johnston, came in once every other week to visit her sister Heidi. Heidi Johnston was fourteen, and lived in the lowest security ward. She had the coziest room in the mansion, for a patient. It was painted pale yellow and had a real bed. When visiting hours were over, Dear would pop in and say goodbye, if she looked approachable.

If she didn't look approachable...

That was another story.

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* * *

.

Dr. Arkham sat at his kitchen table. The bottle of brandy was safely put away, and he was slowly coming up from his slight haze.

He had realized why he was so worried about Kitty Johnson. It wasn't because of her superior attitude, or because she didn't have a full doctorate. The cause was so simple he hadn't seen it, though it was right in front of him when he met her. She was so confident. And yet so young... well, at least compared to him.

He didn't know how she could possibly handle the Joker.

More than half a dozen men and women twice her age had all come out of the private room looking ten, if not twenty, years older, and a hell of a lot more paranoid. Dr. Arkham felt an ironic amusement at his tried-and-true methods failing.

He would have laughed, but then the Joker really would have had the last laugh. And Dr. Arkham really didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

.

* * *

.

At eight o'clock, Dear barred the visitor's entrance. She paged the guards to let them know she was leaving. They never replied, not that she cared. They had a job, she had a job. That they worked at the same place was inconsequential.

She walked down the hallway to the exit the staff used. One side of the corridor was lined with doors with small windows. The third door was labeled H. Johnston, and Dear peeked through the glass.

She quickly drew back, but she wasn't fast enough.

Heidi Johnston saw her.

She had been turning around in the center of the room, breathing heavily and occasionally punching the air. She cried out just as Dear looked in, and they locked eyes.

Heidi flung herself at the door, raking her fingers down the glass and snarling. Her fingertips were bright red, and her chestnut hair was half pulled out of the two braids she wore.

Dear swallowed and backed away. She continued to the exit, ignoring Heidi's yelps and screams.

Hopefully, she'd be approachable tomorrow morning.

.

* * *

.

The couch was comfortable, almost as comfortable as the bed. Jeremiah Arkham watched the news, eyes unfocused. He lay on his side, just in case.

He wasn't looking forward to work tomorrow.


	2. Touchy Subjects

So thank you to everyone who read last chapter and is back for more. I was pleasantly surprised by the attentions bestowed on me by eager readers— your support means more than you realize! :-)

Speaking of support, I'm not so sure about this chapter, as is the case with most chapters. Any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. I hope I can live up to all your expectations!

DC readers will probably notice more nods to the comics in this chapter. Again, Kudos if you spot them. And once again, all of their scenarios and characters belong to them, not me.

Please, please, please review. I don't mind so much about the whole reading bit, it's not that important.

... Kidding.

Enjoy!

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* * *

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When Dear arrived at work at ten o'clock the next day, she was surprised to see someone already waiting at the visitor's entrance. She quickly realized it was Heidi Johnston's sister, Ingrid Johnston. A regular.

But not the regular time. Or day.

Ingrid turned at the sound of Dear's shoes on the pavement. A smile crossed her face.

"Morning, Dear."

"It's not the right day, Miss Johnston." Dear motioned for Ingrid to follow her to the back entrance she used. "Something wrong?"

"No, not at all."

They walked down a sloping path to the side door. Dear, for the most part, ignored Ingrid. She wasn't visiting today, that was for certain. Once Dear entered in the code to open the door, she marched inside.

"Is Dr. Arkham in?"

Dear stopped. "Doc Ark? Sure." She shrugged. "If he's not, well, he should be."

Ingrid smiled shyly. "His office is this way?"

"Yes. Just go straight, you can't miss it."

Dear nodded at Ingrid before going down a side corridor. Ingrid raised a hand in farewell. "Till Tuesday." Dear tossed up a hand casually, then took another turn and disappeared from Ingrid's view.

Ingrid let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She liked Dear, but the five years between them went a long way. Thank God she liked Heidi.

She started down the hallway to Dr. Arkham's office. He had a hectic schedule, but she had the whole morning to wait. And she had to come in on Tuesday, anyway. She could wait if she had to.

She smiled when she finally got to Arkham's office. She knocked, waited, then knocked again. After a minute, she sighed and turned, looking down an intersecting hallway for anyone.

Barely a minute had passed when she spotted a pretty young blond headed her way. She waved. "Hello," she called.

"Hi." The woman stopped a few yards away. "Can I help you?"

"Yes! I'm looking for Dr. Arkham. I need to talk to him about my sister." At the confused look on the other's face, Ingrid added, "Heidi Johnston." She pushed her glasses up her nose.

"Heidi's your sister? I'm working with her psychiatrist. Dr. Harleen Quinzel," she said. Dr. Quinzel stuck out a manicured hand. Ingrid took it.

"Ingrid Johnston. Nice to meet you."

"Dr. Arkham's with a patient right now, but he should be done in a few minutes."

"Anyone I know?" Ingrid grinned.

"Doubt it."

* * *

Dr. Arkham pursed his lips, reading over his notes. He was waiting for the elevator.

When it came, he stepped in, pressed for the ground floor, and looked back at his notes on Peyton Riley. She was a twenty-seven year old criminal genius who suffered from dissociative identity disorder.

She was also a ventriloquist with a crazy dummy, name of Scarface. Scarface referred to Riley as 'sugar'. Dr. Arkham was wondering if the dummy didn't have a mind of its own. It sure looked that way— if you ignored Riley's disorder.

He shook his head and closed her file. The elevator door opened and he headed to his office. He was surprised to see someone waiting for him— did he have an appointment?

"Good morning," he said.

Ingrid Johnston turned around and smiled. "Morning, doctor."

"Miss Johnston. It's not Tuesday."

"I know. I have a few questions for you."

Dr. Arkham unlocked his office. "Of course. Come in." Ingrid followed him in, glancing around. She'd only been in his office once before, and that was months ago. Dr. Arkham sat down. "Now, how can I help you?"

She sat down in a hard chair. "Well," she started. She licked her lips. "I need to know if there happen to be any patterns in Heidi's hallucinations, and if so, I need to know them."

"Well, that's best answered by her personal doctor. Unfortunately, Dr. Carver's out for the day. Her intern's filling in."

"Dr. Quinzel?"

"Yes," Arkham said. He raised his eyebrows, surprised Ingrid Johnston knew Harleen.

"I just met her; she seems lovely." Ingrid looked down, smiling. "Well, I guess I'll talk to Dr. Carver on Tuesday, then."

"She should be in early tomorrow—"

"No, no, don't bother." Ingrid stood up and adjusted her gray slacks. "I'm out of town till Monday night, anyway. Family reunion," she said, and rolled her eyes.

"Would you like to see your sister?" Ingrid looked surprised, but Dr. Arkham had expected that. Ingrid, better than most, understood the notion of normalcy for the patients.

"It's not Tuesday," Ingrid said, quoting him from before. "But thank you for asking." Arkham quickly stood to let her out as she turned to the door. "Please, don't bother. I know my way to the visitor's entrance." She smiled. "Thank you very much, doctor."

With a turn, she left.

Dr. Arkham sat gingerly back down as the door closed behind her. Ingrid Johnston was one of the most tolerable regulars, but it took more than his usual share of understanding to let her leave without supervision. She was, after all, a very private person. And she didn't like being treated like a woman, either.

It wasn't as though it mattered, he reminded himself. Ingrid Johnston needed to be kept happy, lest she pull her sister out and move her somewhere else. As much as he had respected the whole Johnston family, it was Ingrid who was now fronting the bills for her sister's admittance.

And whether Heidi was sweet or not, six or fourteen, she brought in quite a bit of money. Dr. Arkham didn't want to disappoint the Johnston sisters, but he also didn't want to have to close his hospital down.

So he let Ingrid walk out alone, no matter how serious the consequences ended up to be.

.

* * *

.

Ingrid walked back to the visitor's entrance, looking the other way while she passed her sister's door. When she reached the front desk, she found Dear typing on her PC. Without looking up, she said, "Found the doctor?"

"Oh, yes, yes I did." Ingrid paused and adjusted her pants again. "I'm going out of town till Monday night. If anything happens, call either my cell or David's. You can also reach him at my home number."

"Okay."

"Well, bye, Dear. See you Tuesday." Ingrid started to the door when Dear's walkie-talkie crackled to life.

_"Paramedics to J ASAP. ASAP."_

Dear glanced up after another few seconds, surprised to see Ingrid still there. "What?"

"Is everything all right?"

Dear snorted. "I don't know. I just work here. See you Tuesday."

"Bye."

.

* * *

.

Not fifteen minutes later, after a call from Ingrid Johnston reminding her to tell Heidi she said hi, Dear looked up as Commissioner Gordon walked in with a very pretty young woman she'd never seen before. Dear stood up and looked the girl up and down. Gordon cleared his throat.

"Is Dr. Arkham in?"

"Yes. He was fifteen minutes ago." Dear scratched the back of her neck. "Are you here about the, uh. The Joker?"

"Yes. Can you take us to Dr. Arkham, please?" When Dear favored the young woman with a suspicious look, Gordon introduced her. "This is Katherine Johnson."

"Kitty, he means," Katherine, or Kitty, rather, said. She stuck out a hand. Dear didn't take it.

"Nice to meet you." Dear turned on her heel and marched towards Arkham's office. She knocked once she got there and crossed her arms while she waited for an answer. A young man, possibly an intern, opened the door.

"Go right on in," he said. He was looking at the commissioner, and then glanced at Dear, not sure what to do. His eyes slid over to Kitty Johnson and they lit up. "Hello," he smiled. Kitty Johnson hid a smile and nodded.

"Well, see you later," Dear said. She turned on her heel and went back to her desk.

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* * *

.

"She's a bit odd."

"Who? Dear?" Arkham shrugged. Commissioner Gordon chuckled quietly.

"She is odd," he agreed, "but she's a wonderful candidate for the job. She's pretty fearless."

"She sure was hesitant to talk about the Joker."

Arkham and Gordon stared at Kitty Johnson. Gordon ended up smiling; Arkham, frowning.

"It's a touchy subject," the doctor said. "He may have killed someone she knew."

"No," Johnson said. "She hasn't many friends, and she couldn't care less about her family. They don't live in Gotham, at any rate. They probably still live in Texas." Gordon laughed out loud.

"You see, doctor? She'll get in his head in a minute."

Dr. Arkham forced a smile. He looked at Johnson. "How do you figure all that?"

"Well, she's not from Gotham— she has a Texan accent. It's still strong, so that must mean she's either been her a short time, which doesn't seem likely, or she doesn't talk to people around here much. And she doesn't have any rings, so she's not married or engaged. And if her parents lived around here, she'd probably live with them, and not have takeout from McDonald's."

"How do you know her parents don't live in Gotham somewhere else?"

Johnson laughed. "I have to tell you, Dr. Arkham, I looked everyone who works here up on the internet." She ran a hand through her dark blond hair, sweeping it away from her face. "And Gordon said she was fearless."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Fearless people go on adventures. They either live _with_ their parents or far away from them— if they're alive at all."

Arkham stared at her, trying to form a smile. She held his gaze and didn't bother hiding her smugness. Gordon cleared his throat again. "Dr. Arkham, I'll leave you to show her the ropes." He nodded and left.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Dr. Arkham got serious.

"Look, Miss Johnson, I know Commissioner Gordon gave you the highest recommendations. But I'm still not entirely convinced."

Kitty Johnson arranged herself in the chair in front of the psychologist. "Don't worry about me, doctor," she said. "I'm perfectly capable of dealing with him." Her brown eyes twinkled and she smiled, baring her canines. "I'm quite a bit tougher than I look, I assure you."

He folded his hands in his lap, and she sighed as he continued. "I have no doubts about your qualifications. I just don't think you realize exactly what you're dealing with."

"I've read the papers and seen the news. I read his case file, I read his profile that your colleagues wrote up. I've worked with people like him before."

"There's no one like him," Dr. Arkham said.

"Well, one would like to think that." Kitty Johnson glanced at her watch. "There's no one nearly as extreme as him, not that I know of, anyways. But there are people who just really don't care about anything."

The doctor shifted his position. "Well, I suppose." She nodded. He glanced at his own watch and bit back anything else he'd wanted to say. "I'm going to put a guard in the room with you, at least for the first session.

"I'd rather just let you introduce us. You can have video monitoring, I don't mind. A guard right outside. But I work best without variables."

"You consider your protection a variable?" Dr. Arkham was incredulous. "Miss Johnson, it's my job to make sure you're safe—"

"And I will be."

Kitty Johnson stood up. Her mouth was set in a fierce line, and her hands were tightly clasped together. Arkham was surprised at her intensity; she seemed a whole different person from the vain girl she'd been minutes ago.

"I'm not a child, and I don't like being treated like one. Take me seriously, doctor, or the joke _will_ be on you." She leveled her chin. "I understand why you're hesitant here, but I can't give you the best results with people I don't know interfering."

Dr. Arkham didn't know what to say. He saw how it would be: the Joker would get to her, and she'd blame him. And he didn't have a real choice in the matter— Gordon clearly was confident in Johnson, and there wasn't a damn thing Arkham could do about it. He sighed, defeated.

"Well, I hope you end up being right." He stood up and motioned for her to lead the way out. She turned sharply and stepped into the hallway. She stopped, her frown deepening. Arkham saw an edgy Harleen Quinzel eying Johnson. "Dr. Quinzel, this is Kitty Johnson. She's taking up the Joker's case."

A spark of interest flared into Quinzel's blue eyes. "Nice to meet you." She looked at Kitty Johnson calculatingly, not quite sure what to say. Johnson looked five years younger than her, not to mention worlds less professional. She wasn't even wearing a suit. Just a pair of brown Gauchos and a cream-colored ruffled blouse with ballet flats.

Arkham wasn't expecting Johnson to reply. But she managed an almost natural smile with a cheerful wave. "My pleasure."

Dr. Quinzel smiled uncertainly and turned to Arkham. "Heidi Johnson's got a sore throat."

"Well, get her some medicine for it."

The blond left, her heels clicking cheerfully on the floor.

Dr. Arkham turned back to Kitty Johnson. "Shall we?"

A dark smile spread across her face.

"My pleasure."


	3. In Over Your Head

So here's the third installment of _Jane Doe_.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far; it's great to get feedback. I really appreciate those of you who take the time to review. (Don't worry, I also appreciate you, readers! 333)

So I'm having a lot of fun with Kitty Johnson. I've never written anyone like her before, and I'm enjoying it! Please let me know if you think anything she does is unrealistic in her situation— although granted, she's a slightly weird person.

And there are even more comics references in this chapter, including the Killer Croc! Run from his evil reptilic badliness!

... Yes, I know that was wholly unnecessary.

ANYway. Please read, review, relax, enjoy, endure, etc! Thanks again!

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* * *

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The elevator ride down to the maximum security unit seemed much longer than it should have.

It was only two stories underground, but either the elevator went extremely went slow, or Kitty Johnson was imagining things.

She was probably imagining things. She'd never been in a locked elevator before— Dr. Arkham had used a key to summon the lift.

"This is for the lower levels only," Dr. Arkham had told her while they waited. "Our maximum-security wing."

"How many down there now?"

"Patients? Three."

"The Joker, the Scarecrow, and..."

"Confidential, Miss Johnson." Dr. Arkham flashed her a smile as they stepped into the elevator. "I'm sure you'll figure it out quite soon."

Kitty Johnson didn't answer. She already knew who was down there— Waylon Jones, a genetic experiment gone bad, and a crazy man gone worse.

But it was nice to know that Jeremiah Arkham had some restraint. Kitty could withstand such snubs if it meant that the offender had a brain. She didn't like how he detested her, though.

Well, maybe detested was too strong a word. It wasn't that extreme, just a bit unnerving. Most people liked Kitty. They smiled at her when she smiled at them. But Dr. Arkham wasn't bought with her pretty face.

She respected that he mistrusted her. Commissioner Gordon hadn't been very explicit with her qualifications, and she didn't look old enough to be out of college. Usually, she was welcomed with open arms. It was nice to meet someone as wary as Jeremiah Arkham who didn't work for the police.

But she much preferred being here, where she knew who was crazy.

Well, for the most part.

She wasn't going to forget the Dr. Crane—Scarecrow incident anytime soon.

Maybe insanity was contagious?

If so, Kitty was hardly one to disagree. She'd watched it spread before. Mob mentality worked for madness as well as mediocrity and mockery.

Maybe even better.

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* * *

.

When the elevator finally slid open, Kitty let Dr. Arkham leave first. She glanced around the elevator, and was surprised not to see any tell-tale signs of cameras. She had expected more surveillance than this.

Well, they'd learn eventually that idiots, not to mention the insane, could come up with things that clever people like her and Arkham would never dream of.

Kitty glanced over at the psychiatrist, who watched her with a perpetual frown as he led her down the corridor. She knew what he was thinking. He thought he knew how it would end: another victory for the Joker, another loss for Gotham, and the rest of the world.

She wasn't afraid of the Joker. She knew she was beyond his corruption, and not only because she knew things he didn't. They were on completely different levels, so to speak, and she had the access to the elevator.

If he wanted to get on the ground floor, he'd have to cooperate.

.

* * *

.

Aaron Cash, one of Arkham's guards, watched the Joker on a monitor as other guards tried to get the Joker onto a metal chair. They ignored his hysterical laughter as he flopped around, striking out at them.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. As the door to the maximum-security surveillance room opened, he turned.

"Hi, Mr. Cash."

"Hey, Terry."

Aaron liked Terry Thirteen. He had more brains than the other two interns did, not to mention he was beyond respectful. Maybe the fact that Aaron had subdued one of the most dangerous patients and saved Terry's life in the process helped, but either way. Terry was a good kid.

Terry glanced at the screen, shaking his head as the guards finally got the Joker restrained. "I dun think that's gunna keep'im down."

"Well, we'll see."

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* * *

.

Dr. Arkham opened the door to the Joker's cell. The two guards who'd strapped him down stood on the other side of the room, near an empty folding chair.

"Aha he ha ha hoo. Heh heh. Aha."

Arkham ignored the Joker's dying laughs and turned to beckon Kitty Johnson in. But she was already pushing past him with a confident grin.

"Joker, this is Dr. Johnson."

The Joker peered up at Kitty, his eyes hidden inside the painted black circles. They followed her as she sat down in the folding chair and crossed her legs.

"Well, hell-lo there, doctor."

"My name's Kitty Johnson, and I'm not a doctor. I'm a social worker." She glanced at Dr. Arkham and nodded. With a final look at the Joker, he turned to leave.

He turned back, though, and beckoned the two guards out as well.

When the door closed, the Joker snapped dark eyes back to Kitty Johnson. He licked his lips.

"Well, well, well."

Kitty ignored him. "What I'd like to know is how come you're still wearing that cheap greasepaint." She met his stare dead on. She ran her tongue slowly across her plump lips. His eyes followed its path. "But I'm sure I can talk to someone else about that."

"You, ah, you think you're so smar-T."

"No, I know I'm smart." She scooted the folding chair closer to him, close enough that she reached out and touched his arm. "We can do this hard way, or we can do this the easy way."

"And what is it we, we're going to, ah, do?"

"Talk about you."

He burst into laughter, and she pulled her hand away. "G-g-good luh-K." His chair trembled from his shakes.

"I know things," Kitty said. She absently scratched her wrist. "I know all about you."

"Whatcha wanna bet on that?"

"Everything."

.

* * *

.

Aaron Cash and Terrence Thirteen watched the Joker and Kitty Johnson on screen with Dr. Arkham hovering behind their chairs.

"Doctuh Arkham, I think Miss Johnson knows what she's doing," Terry ventured.

He shook his head. "I don't trust her instincts."

Terry and Aaron glanced at each other and raised their eyebrows.

.

* * *

.

"Now first I want to get on a more intimate basis."

Kitty was standing behind the folding chair, leaning forward on it as she smiled at the Joker. His mouth twitched with amusement.

"DOES that include-ah us getting, ah, closer?" He licked his lips, and she pursed hers.

"I just wanna be friends, Joker. Is that so much to ask?"

He laughed again, and the restraints visibly loosened. "You're in waaaay over yer-rah, your pretty little head." He was suddenly standing.

He stalked to her, but she smiled. With a shove, the chair clanged away, and the Joker herded Kitty against the wall, where she kept smiling even as he pulled out a needle full of who-knew-what from who-knew-where.

"You wanna know how I got these scars?"

"Not really."

He pushed the needle above the collarbone, making a pucker in her skin. "You see-uh, I had this, this friend."

"A bunch of friends."

He frowned. "Now, now, now." He licked the side of his mouth and sucked in his cheeks. "Hush-sh-sh." He pulled the needle away and pressed it against random spots on her neck, moving up until it was between her lips. "These, uh, these friends-suh, they liked to make jokes."

Kitty laughed through her nose. "Bad jokes," she managed. He shoved the needle deeper until she had to fight not to gag.

"Yeah, baaaad jokes. So I didn't laugh. They thought I was, uh, too, too serious. 'You should smile more,' they said."

She tried to say something, but the needle pierced the back of her throat. He pulled it out. She swallowed.

"You mean they said you should cheer up."

"Hahaha! Yes-uh! So they, they, they get a needle, like this one!" He shoved it back in her mouth and pulled it to the corner of her lips. They stretched into a half-smile from the manipulation. "They make it hot-hot-hot-ah, and they stick it in my mouth, and pull right on up!" He jerked on the needle, and pulled it out of her mouth and shoved it into her arm. He didn't push the canister in.

"So now you get the bad jokes."

"Yeaaaah. I get all the b-b-b-bad jokes."

"I know someone who tells bad jokes," Kitty said. She cocked her head. "I bet you know her."

"Oho! Do I now!" He leaned into her, their noses almost touching. She didn't flinch, simply stared at him. "Surprise me," he growled.

"Does the name... Ingrid ring a bell?" The Joker stiffened and pulled the needle out of her arm. "Ingrid Johnston?"

The needle was hovering an inch from her right eye in a millisecond. She smiled as the door banged open and the two guards from before grabbed him. She took a deep breath.

"See? I can make bad jokes too!"

She laughed, cheerful. The guards glanced at her, bewildered and frightened by her. They never laughed in his face. Did she have a death wish?

Terry Thirteen and Aaron Cash followed Dr. Arkham into the room. Kitty had composed herself by then, and she smiled at the three shocked men.

"When's the next appointment?"

* * *


End file.
